Six Points of Light:Hook's Origin

by Kalynn Bayron

  He tilted his head back, sweeping his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes and behind his ear. He looked up at the twisting maze of branches overhead.

  If I had been able to break free sooner, I could have saved her, he thought.

  He closed his eyes. The musty smell of the hollow filled his nose. Rain had been trickling down for the past three days, and everything outside was damp. Small rivulets of water dripped down from the top of the tree, crisscrossing the inside walls like a road map. The books were strewn about, the chair upended and broken into a hundred pieces. James had gone on a rampage after Wendy's disappearance and never bothered to clean up the mess he had made. He’d turned the hollow inside out, looking for a clue, anything that could help him find a way to Wendy. He’d clapped and stomped and sung loudly, hoping to draw in one of those magical creatures to show him the way, but none had come.

  James stood up, brushed his clothes off and stepped out into the rain without bothering to cover his head. He let himself be drenched as he made his way slowly back to the old orphanage.

  When he emerged from the forest, he looked up the hill at St. Catherine's, looming like a great gray ghost. The darkening storm clouds made the place look even more ominous. There were no children running about; there was no laughing, no rejoicing. All of the children had gone.

  After Peter took Wendy and the others away, the authorities had closed St. Catherine's and accused the Sisters of neglect. They asked how a boy as young as Peter, along with his friends, had simply dropped off the face of the earth. Sister Maddie had no explanation, and James knew full well how his recollection of events would sound. The authorities wasted no time closing the orphanage.

  The remaining children were shipped off to other facilities, and those who were old enough to make up their own minds were left to their own devices. James had stayed. St. Catherine's was home. He had never known any other place.

  After the closing, Sister Maddie had retreated to her quarters for many days, refusing to eat and refusing company. James had sat outside her door for days and days. When she’d finally emerged, he’d been horrified to see how emaciated she had become. Her eyes were red with dark circles under them. She’d collapsed into his arms, and he’d taken her straight to the infirmary, where she’d rested and been tended to by Sister Angelica.

  “How has it come to this?” she had asked him. “What have I done?”

  “It’s not your fault,” James had whispered to her. “This is all Peter's doing. He kidnapped Wendy and the others.” James had stopped. He knew that most of the others had gone willingly but could never admit it to Sister Maddie.

  “Yes, but where have they gone?” asked Sister Maddie. James could not bring himself to tell her what he had witnessed. “Wendy, poor Wendy,” she’d murmured.

  James had bowed his head. He could barely stand to hear her name spoken aloud.

  Sister Maddie never recovered. The crushing sadness she’d felt was overwhelming and had consumed her. She wasted away to almost nothing before passing away in her sleep. James had been there, waiting, watching. He had never been so close to death. Her breaths had come in slow, uneven draws with so much time between them that, more than once, James and Sister Angelica had thought it was all over. And then, finally, it was.

  Sister Maddie was buried on the grounds in the small cemetery behind the garden. A simple burial, as she would have wanted it. James left fresh flowers on her headstone every day, rain or shine.

  Sister Angelica took over the daily running of St. Catherine's. James kept Sister Maddie's quarters exactly as she had left them.

  Now, standing at the bottom of the hill, looking up at the building, James thought he would like to go there, to her room, to sit and think.

  He trudged up the hill in the pouring rain and entered the rear of the church. He didn’t realize how late the hour was until he heard the chiming of the bells in the steeple. It was well past midnight.

  James stopped and pulled a thick woolen blanket from the linen closet in the hallway then threw it around his shivering shoulders. He made his way down the darkened hallway towards the unlocked side door that led to the rectory. As he passed the open chapel doors, he saw something that puzzled him.

  A faint glow came from inside. The chapel was always open, and so it did not surprise him that someone might be inside. What puzzled him was that sitting there in a pew was what appeared to be a child, alone, his head bowed.

  There hadn't been a child at St. Catherine's in years. Not since the last of the older boys and girls had gone out to find their way in the world.

  James paused by the open door. The candle light was dim, but he was sure it was a small child, perhaps nine or ten years old, with wavy dark hair. He stepped into the chapel, catching the faint smell of jasmine as he did. He wondered if the boy had been left there by someone who did not know that St. Catherine's no longer took in children. He approached the boy slowly.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. The boy did not move. “Are you alone?” James paused. Perhaps the boy was hard of hearing. He felt a pang of pity. “It’s very late—are you hungry?”

  The boy turned, and James was met with a familiar set of eyes. Wendy's eyes, which she shared with her youngest brother, Michael.

  James stumbled backwards, crashing into a pew and knocking over a potted plant. The boy stood up. It was Michael Darling, there in the flesh, not a day changed from the last time James saw him through the billowing smoke on the night they all disappeared with Peter.

  “Michael?” James whispered.

  “Yes, James. It’s me,” he replied.

  James saw that his clothes were tattered and he was without shoes. His face was golden and shining, as if he had been in the sun too long. His hair was tousled, and he carried with him a small satchel slung over his right shoulder.

  James tried to calm himself, his hand trembling and his heart racing uncontrollably.

  “James,” said Michael. “I need your help.”

  James couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. It occurred to him that, if Michael was here, Peter might be here, too. He tossed his woolen blanket onto the floor and scrambled to his feet. Michael stared unflinchingly at James's right wrist.

  “Wendy is in terrible danger, and I don't know who else to turn to,” said Michael.

  “Wendy,” stammered James. He stepped forward and placed his trembling left hand on Michael's shoulder. Tears were streaming down the boy’s face. “Michael, what has happened?”

  Michael looked up into James's face, his tears flowing like a river. “James, we must save her. We must! It’s Peter... he... he's a monster.”

  “Come with me,” said James.

  He grabbed Michael by the wrist and led him out of the chapel and down the hallway towards the empty boys' wing. A few of the rooms were used for storage but no one lived there besides James. The Sisters stayed in the rectory and rarely came to that part of the building. He was sure they would have all the privacy they needed.

  James took Michael into a small room at the end of the hall that still had some of its furnishings and closed the door behind them.

  “Michael, tell me, what has happened?” he asked frantically.

  “James, please. Forgive me. I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know what Peter was planning.”

  “Is she hurt?” James asked through gritted teeth. If Peter had harmed her...

  “No, no it’s not that,” said Michael. “But she is a prisoner, James. He keeps her close to him. She cannot escape, and she wants to, James. She wants to be free from him.”

  James could not believe what he was hearing. He pictured Wendy held captive, and it made his blood boil.

  “Peter told her that if she would help everyone get settled, he would let her come back. She never wanted to go. She wanted to stay with you.” James's heart broke open, and he fell to his knees. “He is a liar, James,” Michael continued. “He lied to her. He lied to all of us. He rules the camp with an iron fist,
shouting and ordering us about. Most of the others follow him without question. They feel like they belong, like they have a purpose. But those who don't follow him, well...bad things happen. Very bad things.” Michael put his head down.

  “What kinds of things?” asked James. He had collected himself enough to ask the question but felt he might fall apart at the answer.

  “A few of the younger boys, they got homesick, you know? They wanted to leave. And one day they argued with Peter, and then the next night they were gone. Just gone, James. And no one was allowed to ask where they were. Peter calls us the Lost Boys. We are his lost boys, and he is in charge. Anyone who doesn't follow him either disappears or worse.”

  Images of Peter standing over the bleeding police officer and holding his knife in Wendy's side poured into James’s mind. Those memories were never far off, but now they were all he could see.

  “You said Wendy is a prisoner?”

  “Yes, a prisoner. That’s what I would call it. He keeps her busy, cleaning and cooking for the boys. She tells us stories and sings to us. But she argues with Peter, and then she is gone for days and days, and when she returns, her clothes are dirty and she has been crying. I can’t stand it.”

  James fought back tears. No, not my Wendy. “How could Peter do such a thing?”

  “Is it really so hard to imagine?”

  “No, I suppose it’s not. Please forgive me, Michael. I know what he’s capable of. I don’t doubt you at all.”

  “We must get her back, James. We must save her,” said Michael.

  James looked at Michael. If he had found his way home from Neverland, it was possible that he knew how to get back.

  “You can get us there? To Neverland?” asked James.

  “I think so. But I will need your help.” Michael was clutching his satchel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  “We should go now, Michael. We haven't any time to waste.”

  James went to his quarters to change his clothes and fetch a shoulder bag. He stuffed into it a sweater and a notebook he had secreted away between his bookshelf and the wall. When he returned, he saw that Michael had found a candle, and it stood flickering on a little table in the corner of the room.

  James closed the door behind him and stood silently for a moment. How small and frail Michael looked. He resembled Wendy in so many ways.

  “Michael, may I ask you something?” asked James.

  “I already know what you’re going to ask.” Michael smiled a shy, half-smile. “I can tell by the way you looked at me in the chapel. You want to know why I look the very same as the day I last saw you.” He was right. “I can’t explain it. In Neverland, time stands still. And for some, time moves in reverse. It’s not that way for everyone. Most of us remain the same as the day we arrived. But for a few of us, things move backwards. Scars fade, and a younger version of ourselves is revealed. It happened that way for a few of the older boys.

  “Pan says it’s because Neverland is for those who are young at heart and that somehow that is shown on the outside. I don’t know if that is true, but I know that time doesn’t move in a straight line in Neverland.”

  James was fascinated. But now he had another question. “Pan. You called him Pan just now.”

  “Oh yes. He insists on it. He is Peter Pan to us now, on account of his obsessive playing of the flute.”

  James was trying to wrap his head around all of the things he was hearing. It seemed Abigail Houton's diary had revealed more about Neverland than he’d thought was possible. He recalled how her father had called her a ghost when she’d returned from Neverland. How he had aged while she, apparently, had not.

  James pulled his small notebook from his bag. Unbeknownst to Peter, or anyone else, James had made an exact copy of Peter's mother's journal, copying each entry exactly as she had written it. He’d also copied her drawings as best he could, paying particular attention to the accuracy of the drawing labeled PEGASUS.

  “Peter's mother left him a diary. She had been to Neverland in her youth, and after she returned, she could not find a way back.”

  Michael looked stunned. “His mother? I suppose even a scoundrel has to have a mother.”

  “How can we get to Neverland, Michael? Do you know the way? His mother made it seem as if people could come and go at will.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, I'm afraid,” he said “We don't have a fairy on hand. Do we?”

  James shook his head.

  “Right. So I have the next best thing.” Michael looked over at the door. “Are you certain it’s locked?”

  “It’s closed. There isn't a lock.”

  Michael hesitated. “That won’t do.” He hopped up and began pushing on a small bookcase that stood against the wall. “Give me a hand.”

  James looked at him quizzically.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry, James. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine, Michael,” James interrupted. “I’ve got one good one to give.” He stood up and helped Michael push the bookcase in front of the door.

  “I think that will have to do,” said Michael.

  They stood by the table as Michael pulled from his satchel a wooden box that was closed with a metal padlock.

  “Is that a... a fairy?” stammered James.

  “No, but this will help us get one.”

  Michael took a small key from his pocket and unlocked the padlock, making sure that his hand was pressed firmly on the lid. Then he turned the key and opened the box. James peered inside and saw only blackness until something jumped from the box and appeared to double in size instantly.

  They both jumped back. James watched as the figure stood close to the wall. It was shaped like a boy, but James could not see a face or clothing. It shifted and appeared to change shape before his very eyes.

  “What is it?” James whispered.

  “Shhhh!” Michael hushed him.

  The figure rose up in the light of the candle and danced across the ceiling, settling into the opposite corner of the room.

  “A spirit,” said James in disbelief.

  “No,” said Michael. “A shadow. Pan's shadow.”

  CHAPTER 14

  A LONG LOST FRIEND

  James and Michael stood motionless in the darkened room, barely daring to breathe. The light from the candle cast long shadows that bled into each corner. The shadows of James and Michael were in their rightful places, mirroring their subtle movements. But the shadow in the corner had no master. It shifted, growing very large and then shrinking back into the darkness.

  “A shadow?” James whispered.

  “Yes,” said Michael. “Pan detached himself from it. He uses it to do his bidding, to spy on us and follow us around.”

  “How was it done? How does one detach oneself from one’s own shadow?” James was dumbfounded.

  “I don't know,” said Michael, turning to look at James. “There are so many things I cannot explain. I know for certain that none of the other boys have any idea how he did it, and I am sure that the shadow wishes for nothing more than to be reunited with him. It is a part of him.”

  James was awestruck. He had seen with his own eyes a very short list of magical things; he knew they existed. But the things Michael was telling him seemed impossible, and yet those impossibilities were being proven to him right at that very moment.

  He studied the shadow. It did indeed seem to resemble Peter's slight build. He could even make out the outline of Peter's tousled hair. The shadow stood still now, as if it knew that James was studying it. It rested its hand on its hip, its elbow jutting out to the side.

  “I think it can help us, James. I think it will lead us back to Pan somehow,” said Michael.

  “How can we ask it to do that? Can it hear us?”

  The shadow grew large again, towering over them like a giant. James took a step back.

  “I think it knows what we're saying. It seems to follow Peter's orders just fine,” said Michael.

  Michael�
�s eyes suddenly grew large and a look of terror spread across his face. James followed his blank stare and saw that he was looking at a small window where the tiniest bit of light was beginning to peek through. Partially blocked by a large armoire, James hadn’t even noticed it before.

  “James...,” said Michael just above a whisper.

  The shadow shot up onto the ceiling. It moved past James, and then a gust of wind blew through the room, snuffing out the candle just as it disappeared through the window's glass pane as if by magic.

  “No!” screamed Michael. He jumped up and grabbed his satchel. “Come on!”

  James grabbed his bag, and together they pushed the bookshelf from in front of the door and bolted down the hallway, with Michael leading the way. They crashed through the rear exit and ran alongside the building.

  The sun had not come over the horizon, and its light was only visible as a faint shimmer in the distance. Michael stopped and looked around.

  “We have to find it before the sun comes up! We can’t catch it in the daylight!” said Michael.

  James surveyed the landscape, looking for any sign of the shadow. Just at the bottom of the hill, he caught sight of it creeping along the ground. Swiftly and silently, it was heading for the pathway that led to the hollow.

  “I know where it's going,” said James. He ran at a full sprint towards the shadow as it vanished into the tree line.

  “We've lost it!” Michael was struggling to keep pace.

  “No. Follow me. It’s headed to the hollow!” James hollered over his shoulder.

  He barreled into the line of ominous-looking trees. He ran through the woods, measuring his steps on memory alone. He could have navigated the course with his eyes closed.

  “James! Wait!” shouted Michael. James turned to see that Michael was a good distance behind him.

  “Head for the hollow, Michael!” James shouted back. He pushed forward at a breakneck speed, finally tumbling headlong into the clearing. He quickly righted himself.

  “Where are you?” he said aloud.

  The clearing was full of shadows, and each one seemed to beckon him, tricking him. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to pick out Peter's shadow from the others. He looked towards the hollow's entrance and saw the familiar shape slithering among the grass like a snake, headed straight towards the doorway.